


Another Chance

by valda



Series: Sentence-Combining Fics [2]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 11:29:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4390109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valda/pseuds/valda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cooking lesson Earl gives Carlos leads to an opportunity Cecil had thought lost forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Chance

**Author's Note:**

> This was written to combine 16 sentences submitted to me on Tumblr. Credits at the end.

There are things in this world that nobody understands. Like Jell-O. And alternative rock. And pinstripe suits. Like, why do they even exist? Ugh. Then there are things that everyone understands, but that are still terrible. Today, Cecil was dealing with a perfect example of the latter.

The vending machine was in a bad mood again. “The sandwiches are problematic,” it complained, utterly refusing to dispense one despite all of Cecil’s carefully worded entreaties and minor sacrifices. He’d been arguing with the thing for the better part of an hour, and now his break was almost over, and he hadn’t eaten a damn thing today. (He could hear Carlos in his head: “Coffee isn’t breakfast, sweetie!” _Yeah, thanks, dear, that’s_ super _helpful_.)

Cecil refocused his attention on the machine. “I’m sure they’re fine,” he assured it in his most flattering voice. “Your sandwiches are _always_ fine. You’re practically a _scientist_ that way.”

It was the highest compliment Cecil could possibly give. It was also a lie, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Unfortunately, the vending machine was unmoved. “Oh, don’t think you can fool _me_ with your wheedling, Cecil Palmer,” it moaned at him. “I know you. _Surely_ you remember what you tried to pull in 1987.”

_Ugh_. Cecil rolled his eyes and let out a cavernous sigh. There was no point in continuing this farce. “Oh, shut it, will you?” he scowled at the machine, somehow managing to refrain from kicking it. “I hope you’re in a better mood tomorrow.”

Trying to ignore his growling stomach, Cecil whirled on the spot and stalked away.

(As soon as Cecil had left the break room, the machine derisively spat out a bacon and guava calzone. The hot sandwich launched spectacularly into the bulletin board on the opposite wall, exploding in violent gobs across the memo about the upcoming softball tournament with Channel 6.)

~

“I’ve never seen one shaped like that before,” Earl said, sounding intrigued.

Carlos hunched his shoulders in embarrassment. “Um,” he stammered. “Really? I thought it was pretty normal.”

Earl grinned at him. “You really _are_ an outsider, aren’t you?”

Carlos pouted a little and scuffed his foot. “Don’t be mean, Earl.”

At that, Earl laughed out loud. “Sorry, sorry,” he said with a wide smile that flashed bright against his ebony skin. He clapped Carlos on the shoulder. “You can use that knife if you want. A chef should always use the tools they’re comfortable with.”

Carlos felt himself relax at the man’s friendly apology and warm touch. “Thanks,” he said, offering a smile that felt a little shy. He set to work carefully dicing the onions with his santoku knife.

Earl, meanwhile, began hacking away at the prunes with his personal weapon of choice, a spectacularly large curved blade with a jeweled hilt. Rather than using a cutting board, he simply tossed the fruit into the air, cubing each one in a split second and allowing the pieces to fall neatly into the bowl in his other hand.

For several minutes the kitchen was silent save for the expert (and not-so-expert) sound of chopping. Carlos was thinking ahead, though, and after a time, he couldn’t help but ask. “I _still_ don’t understand why we need toes,” he said.

Earl finished decimating a prune in midair and shifted his knife down to a resting position at his side. “The toes are essential,” he assured Carlos. “They’re perfect for making chutney, and they create an incredible contrast to the olive gills. Don’t worry; they’re totally vegan.”

“I trust you,” Carlos said without hesitation. “To be honest, you seem like a very nice person. And—and I can tell that you really care about Cecil.”

“…Yeah,” Earl said slowly, “I do.”

Carlos stared at the cutting board, his hand going still. “You’ve been really good to him.”

“He was my best friend.”

His heart was a hammer and his face was on fire and his tongue felt three sizes too big for his mouth. Carlos found himself unable to raise his eyes. After a long moment, he went back to awkwardly slicing the onions.

~

Usually Cecil would be going home at this time, but he got distracted by the mostly nude being that was definitely not an angel.

“Hello, Erika,” he said when it became obvious that he could not simply ignore the creature—he’d tried to pass three times, and each time the towering figure had glided in front of him like a shadow, gazing emotionlessly down at him over a field of jagged cheekbones.

“Whatever,” the not-angel replied, but did not move.

Cecil sighed. “Look. I haven’t had anything to eat all day. I just want to get home and enjoy the lovely dinner my Carlos is making.”

“Like, it’s not _ready_ yet?” Erika said.

“ _How would you_ —” Cecil stopped himself and sighed yet again. “Okay. _Fine_. Did you need something?”

“I really miss owning a dragon,” Erika said.

“You can’t—you— _what_?”

“I mean, I’ve got _wings_ and all? But _dragon_ was just, like, a _really cool_ way to travel.”

“But you’re an ang—ahem. Um. Given your current, er, state of being, that seems like an incredibly odd thing to say.”

“Hiram McDaniels,” Erika continued, as though Cecil hadn’t spoken. “He’s, like, in prison. Maybe he could shorten his sentence with some community service. Like, providing _transportation_ , or whatever. Not public transportation,” Erika added quickly. “Private transportation.”

“But…Erika? Hiram is a person? Five people, actually, and they don’t even always agree with each other—”

The not-angel let out a long, rattling breath. The sound sent a chill shudder through Cecil, chattering his teeth and turning his toes to ice. “So I guess you won’t put in a good word for me with the Sheriff’s Secret Police.”

Cecil shivered, letting out a barking laugh in an attempt to cover it. “It wouldn’t do you any good anyway.” He paused. “But seriously. Erika. You can’t just…own people. I mean, you _can_. But…you _can’t_.”

“ _There_ you are,” snapped a familiar and very welcome voice, and Cecil turned gratefully to see Old Woman Josie powering down the sidewalk. “Erika! You leave poor Cecil alone.”

“Um,” Erika said, stepping back awkwardly and fumbling their multitudinous limbs.

“You heard me. Leave Cecil alone and go back to the house.”

Erika flapped their enormous wings once, a trembly, self-conscious motion that sent a cool blast of air in all directions, then turned and glided down the sidewalk.

“Now, go sit in the corner and think about what you did!” Josie shouted after them. She looked up at Cecil and sighed, tucking a stray lock of white hair behind her ear. “Erika told me what they were thinking about. It’s bad enough they owned that coffee table. This is ridiculous. I swear, keeping angels in line is so much work!”

“Um.” Cecil politely did not point out that angels don’t exist. Instead, he said, “Thanks.”

Josie smiled and winked. “You’re welcome. Now get on home to your boyfriend.”

“Would you like to have dinner with us? I’m sure Carlos wouldn’t mind—”

“No, no,” Josie shook her head, her brown eyes twinkling with hidden knowledge, as usual. “Y'all got something to discuss, I’d just be in the way.”

“…oh?” Cecil asked, raising an eyebrow.

But Josie just winked again. “‘Night, Cecil,” she said.

~

“You see, sometimes, it’s not an eggplant after all,” Earl explained.

Carlos stared at the tiny corpse. “How did you know, though?”

“When eggplants dance, they spin in counterclockwise circles. This little bastard was spinning clockwise.”

“There’s a lot you have to learn to be a chef, isn’t there?” Carlos asked, unable to keep the admiration from his voice.

Earl looked pleased. “Yeah, I guess so.” He smiled, and Carlos felt his stomach drop, and he quickly looked away.

“So…Cecil’s running late, I guess,” he said, hands twisting his borrowed apron, which was hunter green with black lace trim and had been elaborately bedazzled with cartoon dog faces. (Cecil rarely cooked and mostly kept it hanging in the kitchen for aesthetic. Carlos had had his own apron, but that was before The Incident.)

“Yeah, I guess you’re the one waiting on him this time,” Earl said. He chuckled when Carlos looked up sharply. “You always seem to forget that the whole town knows your business.”

Carlos sighed and turned back to the imaginary corn he was husking. “He’s such a blabbermouth. I mean, it’s sweet, and it’s part of who he is. But it’s just frustrating when he forgets that some things should just be for us.”

“In my case, he won’t say anything at all,” Earl said. “Just really superficial stuff. The minute things get deeper, _bam_ , he shuts it all down. If he does it one more time, I swear I’m going to hit him in the face with a giant sea bass or something.”

Carlos raised his eyes to Earl’s. He could feel his pulse pounding at the side of his neck, but words wouldn’t come. A moment passed, and then Earl blinked.

“Oh! I meant—about time. About our past. There’s so much I want to know, and he just—”

“Oh, right,” Carlos said. He shook his head at his odd sense of disappointment. “Yeah. That would be frustrating.” He tossed the last corn husk into the compost bin. “So really all that’s left is to boil these for five minutes?”

“Yeah, we should wait until Cecil gets home to do that, to make sure the corn doesn’t get mushy.”

“Okay.” Carlos brushed his hands down the front of the apron, hitting more rhinestones than actual fabric. “So. I guess I can text him, see how long he’ll be? The show’s been over for a while…” He picked up his phone, swiping across the cute selfie he and Cecil had taken in the desert otherworld during their vacation.

~

The armadillo just sat there, like an inanimate object.

Cecil wanted to scream.

“I just want to go _home_ ,” he whimpered, collapsing into a cross-legged seated position on the sidewalk. “ _Why_.”

First it was the vending machine. Then it was that creature claiming to be an angel. And now this armadillo. This stupid, stupid armadillo.

Everyone knew that when you encountered an armadillo you had to answer its riddles. Everyone also knew what the consequences were for answering incorrectly. Cecil was no riddle slouch, but _he hadn’t eaten a thing all day_ and he was _tired_ and _gods, just let him go home_.

His pocket buzzed. “Oh, no, not again,” he practically sobbed—but then he realized that his pants had not in fact come to life, it was just his phone alerting him of a new text. “Oh.” He gave the armadillo a guarded look. “Excuse me.”

_Hey babe. Any idea how much longer you’ll be?_

Cecil squared his shoulders, gaining a bit of strength from the cute emojis of horses in gladiator costumes battling over chocolate cake that Carlos had included at the end of his message.

_I honestly don’t know_ , he tapped. _I ran into an armadillo._

There was a long moment before his phone buzzed in response. Then it quickly buzzed again.

_Oh, I’m sorry, honey._

_Do armadillos ever drop scales? Do you think you could grab one?_

Cecil chuckled.

_I’ll see what I can do._

He looked up from his phone. “Okay, listen up, pal. My hero scientist boyfriend is waiting at home with a delicious dinner. So hurry up and tell me your riddle. And, um, he’d love a scale, if you wouldn’t mind. He’s a _big_ fan.”

The armadillo slowly raised a bristly eyebrow. Then, suddenly, it lifted its leg and started scratching itself violently like a dog. Scales flew everywhere. After a good five minutes of this, the armadillo lowered its leg, turned, and flounced away with a queenly waddle, no questions asked.

Not believing his luck, Cecil scrambled to his feet and scooped as many scales as he could into his fanny pack.

~

He hadn’t bothered texting Carlos again, instead breaking into a flat-out run. He was going to make it home, now, no matter what.

And this time, thankfully, he did.

Cecil let out a long, relieved breath as the front door swung open. Finally, he was here. A delicious smell wafted out to greet him as he stepped into the entryway, and he closed his eyes and smiled.

Then he heard voices.

“Carlos, if the popcorn is properly seasoned, it should be radiating blue and green light.”

Wait, that was Earl. Why was Earl here?

“Is turquoise okay?” Cecil heard Carlos ask from the direction of the kitchen.

“Yes, turquoise is perfect!” Earl called back from the living room. “That’s actually really impressive, not many people can manage that.”

There was a brief silence in which Cecil pictured Carlos’ cute, embarrassed smile. Then Carlos spoke again. “I feel bad for having a snack before dinner,” he said, his voice moving from the kitchen into the living room. “But I’m just really hungry.”

“I’m sure Cecil has gone ahead and eaten without you before, Mr. Obsessed with Science.”

Wait, that’s right. Earl was coming over today to help Carlos learn some new recipes.

Cecil heard a loud crunching noise that was _definitely_ Carlos eating popcorn. He closed his eyes again, this time in desperate envy. _Fooooooooood_ , he thought, opening his eyes and striding through the entryway toward the living room with the singular intention of diving face-first into the popcorn bowl.

At the sight of Carlos and Earl sitting next to each other on the couch, however, he froze stock-still in the doorway.

This was probably the most time Earl had ever spent with Carlos. They’d only actually met after Carlos’ return from the desert otherworld, which wasn’t all that long ago, and really they’d only seen each other in passing, at PTA meetings and the like. Cecil didn’t think they’d ever spent more than ten minutes together, before tonight.

Earl, therefore, probably wasn’t picking up on Carlos’ mannerisms. But Cecil recognized that sheepish grin, those downcast eyes, those hands twisting in the popcorn bowl.

_Oh_ , he thought. _Oh, wow_.

Cecil looked at Earl and realized his childhood friend was gazing at Carlos’ face, a soft look in his eyes. Then Earl licked his lips.

Cecil let out a small squeak.

“Ceec!” Carlos said with surprise, his head whipping around. At the same time, Earl blinked, “Cecil!”

“…I’m home,” Cecil announced lamely.

Carlos leapt to his feet, dropping the popcorn bowl onto the coffee table with a clatter. “That was fast! It must have been a really easy riddle!” He launched himself into Cecil, throwing his arms around his shoulders and burying his face into Cecil’s neck. Cecil squeezed his beautiful scientist tight and kissed his temple.

“Sorry I didn’t text back,” he said. “I was really eager to get home.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Carlos responded, a happy smile in his voice. “I’m just glad you’re here now.”

“…I’ll start the corn,” Earl offered quietly, slinking away to the kitchen.

For a long moment Cecil and Carlos simply held each other. Then, suddenly, Cecil’s stomach started growling again. Loudly.

“Oh, babe,” Carlos said with dismay. “I’m sorry! We should eat!”

Cecil wrapped an arm around Carlos’ waist and hummed into his shoulder as they moved toward the kitchen. “Yes,” he said, “food. Good.”

When they reached the table, they found a crock of vegan gumbo on a warmer at the center with a bowl of purple chutney and a plate of imaginary corn on the side. Two place settings sat ready to go; Earl stood by with a ladle.

“Earl,” Cecil frowned, “you’re not here to _serve_ us. You’re a _guest_. Where’s your bowl?”

The sous chef grimaced. “I—I wasn’t sure,” he said.

“Definitely a guest,” Carlos chimed in. “I mean, come _on_. You’re our _friend_!”

Cecil thought he saw a flush rising high on Carlos’ cheekbones, but of course it was hard to tell. A smile twitched at his lips.

“Here, let’s go ahead and give Cecil something to eat, he’s _starving_ ,” Carlos went on. “And let’s get you settled in too, Earl.” He guided Cecil to a chair. Earl ladled gumbo into Cecil’s bowl while Carlos retrieved another bowl and spoon. Soon they were all seated and tucking into their dinners, a comfortable silence permeating the kitchen alongside the rich, inviting smell of the food.

It was some time before Cecil slowed from shoveling gumbo into his face to a more sedate spoonful every few seconds. “Ugh,” he said around a bite, “ _what a day_.”

Carlos patted his knee under the table. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe a little,” Cecil admitted. “But really, it’s nothing interesting. I’d rather hear about _your_ day.”

“Oh? I don’t know if it’s all that interesting either. Not very much science, since I had the day off. Although—” and at this Carlos glanced quickly at Earl, “—cooking is kind of like science.” He smiled shyly and dropped his eyes to the table. “I mean, there’s bubbling liquids, and notes, and I definitely said 'hmm’ a few times.”

“Really?” Cecil said. “I had no idea cooking was so…scientific.” He grinned. He was going to say it. He couldn’t help himself. He was warm and happy and his stomach was finally full. “So,” he teased, “would you say you two had… _kitchen chemistry_ today?”

Earl choked on a bite of gumbo. He dropped his spoon into his bowl and threw up his hands in a frantically placating gesture. “Nothing!” he said, then snapped his mouth shut, looking mortified.

Carlos, meanwhile, was clutching Cecil’s knee like he was afraid it would slip out of his fingers. He looked back and forth from Cecil to Earl so fast his dark curls bounced.

Cecil really, really wanted to laugh, but Carlos and Earl were uncomfortable, and that wouldn’t do. Not if…well. Not if there was any chance. “Sorry,” he managed to say without grinning. “I thought it would be funny. I didn’t mean anything by it, really.”

Carlos’ grip on Cecil’s knee slowly relaxed. The scientist leaned over and rested his head on Cecil’s shoulder. Earl, however, still looked like he was ready to jump out the window. Cecil wondered for a moment if Earl had, in fact, been raised by wolves. Wolves were notorious for their perpetual embarrassment, after all.

But no, of course not. Surely Cecil would remember a wolf pack dropping Earl off at Scouts.

“Um,” Earl said, breaking into his thoughts, “I should probably go. You know, it’s late, I have a son…”

“I thought Roger was sleeping over at a friend’s?” Cecil said.

“…right,” Earl said, shifting his eyes away.

“So there’s no reason for you to leave. _No reason_. In fact, you should stay and watch a movie with us.” Cecil took another bite of gumbo. “I mean, this is really nice. It’s been awhile since we really got to spend some time together.” He swallowed the bite. “It’s nice having you around.”

“Heh. Thanks, I guess.”

Cecil frowned. “It _is_. I like you, Earl. And Carlos likes you too,” he added, not daring to look at his boyfriend.

Earl grunted. “That may be so, but I still don’t think I’m all that great. I mean, you don’t _need_ to have me around.”

“Earl, is this about—about how I’ve _been_ , the past several months? Because—”

“No,” Earl interrupted him, reaching across the table to lay a hand on Cecil’s forearm. “You’ve been depressed, and it’s not like everything’s magically better now, either.  I completely understand.”

“I’ve taken you for granted,” Cecil pressed, “and ignored you, and it wasn’t fair. But it wasn’t about you not being…special. It was about me being unhappy, and—and just—not knowing how to deal with it.” And it was about something else too, about something Earl had said a long time ago, about a chance Cecil never thought he’d have again.

Carlos had raised his head off Cecil’s shoulder and was gazing at him quietly. He took Cecil’s other hand and squeezed it tight.

“Well.” Earl coughed, stirring his gumbo with his spoon. “I’m here, if you ever do need me.”

“I need you _right now_ ,” Cecil said, shifting his arm forward and gripping Earl’s forearm in a mirror of the way Earl was gripping his. “…to stay and watch a movie.”

Earl laughed a bit. “Okay.” He finally looked at Cecil. “Don’t expect me to be happy about this,” he said, smirking.

“Oh, _never_ ,” Cecil smiled back.

~

It had been difficult to decide who should sit where. All Cecil knew for sure was that _no one_ was sitting in the armchair. They _all_ had to be on the couch.

At first he’d wanted to put Carlos in the middle, let the two of them have that thrill. But after the awkwardness earlier, he decided it was too soon for that. Maybe…maybe on the next date.

And so Cecil sat smiling in the middle, and Earl draped his arms across the back of the couch as usual, and Carlos snuggled into Cecil’s shoulder, his hair just below Earl’s fingers. Yes, Cecil thought. This was good.

He didn’t know exactly how this was all going to go. He didn’t know what he was going to say, or when, or how. But he was home and he was safe and the two most important men in his life were close beside him.

Right now, that was more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> The following sentences were used in this story (did you spot them?):
> 
> Anon: Usually Cecil would be going home at this time, but he got distracted by the mostly nude being that was definitely not an angel.
> 
> gildedeggplant: “If he does it one more time, I swear I’m going to hit him in the face with a giant sea bass or something.”
> 
> doctor-sherly: “That may be so, but I still don’t think I’m all that great.”
> 
> Anon: “Don’t expect me to be happy about this.”
> 
> Anon: “The armadillo just sat there, like an inanimate object.”
> 
> generalcupcakery: “He wondered for a moment if [character name] had, in fact, been raised by wolves.”
> 
> Anon: I still don’t understand why we need toes.
> 
> Anon: You see, sometimes, it’s not an eggplant after all.
> 
> chatsanscoeur: The sandwiches are problematic.
> 
> the-child-from-italy: “Now, go sit in the corner and think about what you did!”
> 
> generalcupcakery: “Oh, shut it, will you?”
> 
> covinskey: There are things in this world that nobody understands. Like Jello.
> 
> longhairshortfuse: “I’ve never seen one shaped like that before.”
> 
> definitelynotsuperobsessed: Carlos, if the popcorn is properly seasoned, it should be radiating blue and green light.
> 
> maisie-whimsie: The vending machine was in a bad mood again.
> 
> Anon: tbh you seem like a v nice person (I don’t know if this was actually for the story, but I used it!)
> 
> I also referenced [this hilarious post](http://sexybaldwin.tumblr.com/post/123840850258/sexybaldwin-if-carlos-and-earl-ever-teamed-up) by sexybaldwin, and Carlos and Earl cooking together was partially inspired by [this cute fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4353365) by longhairshortfuse.


End file.
